I AM: what I y'am. I WANT: a bicycle super badly. That doesn't weigh five thousand pounds, but is sturdy, and has a big brown wicker basket attached to the handlebars. I want to commute as much as possible on it. I WISH: I could function perfectly and happily on five hours of sleep. I HATE: the word hate. I really do. I don't let the girls say it. I think it's way too strong to ever be used in the every-daya vernacular. I MISS: my grandmother. I miss being able to conjure our memories clearly. I don't know how to spark a clearer image of her in my mind. I don't even have a good photo of her. But I still feel her and what we meant to each other. I HEAR: poorly. I just told Yoli this, but I don't hear well. In fact, when I was around three years old I hardly could hear at all which caused preschool teachers to conclude that I was slow and caused my mother to conclude I was willfully ignoring her. They didn't realize I just couldn't hear them. But finally someone caught on and I had tubes placed in my ears. It's almost exactly what Mina had; what I handed down to her. ANYWAY, I still don't hear perfectly and many times I hear an erotic version of what was actually said. Like, if someone says, Particularly nice weather, I hear Tickle your ass with a feather. Or if the news announces, "A thirty year old man was arrested today . . ." I say, "YO, are they allowed to say that on prime time TV?" And Husband says, "What in the hell are you talking about?" Then he adds, "When you're old, I'll have to translate entire TV shows for you, won't I?" I WONDER: what I'll eat next. I REGRET: nothing. Every bad decision and wrong turn and blunder and fumble and self embarrassment and lot in life I can spin into something positive. I mean, why wouldn't we do that even if The Spin is really, really hard to do, or we're just fooling ourselves with all the spinning? I AM NOT: a good catcher of typos. Like, before you read this post, I probably published and edited and published this five thousand times. I'm probably typying a typo right now. I DANCE: as often as possible. And I just realized something recently; that I only dance seriously -- though still joyously -- in the realms of choreography, like in a class. Or while partnered up salsa'ing. But if I'm left to my own devises, with girlfriends at an American club or with my girls at home, I usually only dance for laughs. Like, doing the robot (to ANY genre of music, by the way). Or doing a parody of Beyonce or other video vixens. Or trying to remember every step to the Thriller music video at a nightclub. Or playing Tag Yo Man, Tag Yo Man. Or a version of the Soul Train line. I SING: hardly ever. I only sing to the girls before bed. And usually just the one song. I CRY: almost never. Is that weird? I only tear up when speaking of the beauty of things. I AM NOT ALWAYS: paying attention while driving. The immediate road and cars around me, yea, I see them; I'm being careful. But where I'm going? I dunno. Often I'll suddenly say, Wait, did I pass our turn yet? And Mina will say, No Mami, next one. This causes a lot of tension when I'm driving and Husband is a passenger. He knows my sense of direction and my addiction to daydreaming can lead to more time on the road than necessary. But when he's in the car, I try to be extra alert so I don't have to hear his shit, and of course he thinks he's the best driver in the history of driving. He also knows --and I admit that it's totally true --every short cut to anywhere -- in the world. His sense of direction is really unbelievable. So, we'll come up to the light next to our apartment and he'll say, Turn here. And I don't want to be snappy, but fuck -- yes, I know we live right there, honey. Though I can't say that I've never passed the house by accident before . . . I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: Bangles/bracelets that I love creating but they take a million years per bangle to make. Paintings now and again which I do make with my hands, more than a brush. I make KILLER vegan cupcakes now. And The Dressing, of course. I'm trying to be a great Soup Maker and I invented this kickass Spinach Sesame soup that the girls and I go bananas over. And this year my goal is to take sewing lessons. Enough wishing clothes and purses were a certain way. Or thinking that a stapler is a hand-held sewing machine. I WRITE: because I can't not write. I CONFUSE: the line between panic/fear and intuition. I often squash thoughts of death because I'm worried I'm being intuitive when I'm only really fearful of loss and undeservedness. I NEED: lots of affection from the girls and Husband. Which is funny because I'm not necessarily a touchy-feely person with anyone else. It took me a long time to get relatively comfortable with hugging people hello and good bye and shit. I don't like the obligation of that as a greeting. I wonder if my boobs are smashing them too much or if I smell ok. How long should we hug? Does this hug have ANY MEANING WHATSOEVER, because it seems like it should. When I really like someone, I do like to hug them. I dunno. It's hit and miss with me. BUT, with the girls and Husband, I want to touch them constantly. I want to stand close enough to them at all times so our arms touch. I want to kiss their faces all day long. I SHOULD: write more of le fiction. YEA YEA YEA. I START: every morning with my kale-celery-apple-ginger-lemon juice and a big cup o' over-soy-creamered coffee. I FINISH: what I can.
I love my husband because he’s kind of a dick. But he’s soft with me and his lip quivered at our wedding. I love my daughters. They’re brilliant and funny, and I’m here to kick down mountains that get in their way. I’m a vegan, and all is right in my world because of it. I can still beat the neighborhood in HORSE because I have a bad-ass set shot. Justice is served well through fair food, and scarcity would be a myth if we shared more, damn. Yo soy una mezcla which leaves me mixed up sometimes. My commute bike’s name is Loops and she’s my favorite kind of car. I wish I had written Chronicle of a Death Foretold. I’ve endured 54 hours of tattoo work. But above all, I fiercely believe in the underdog.
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!" - Kerouac (As told to me by Marigoldie)